


how you tempt me

by FireflyFoxtrot



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24674134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireflyFoxtrot/pseuds/FireflyFoxtrot
Summary: Crowley pushes Aziraphale over the edge
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 40





	how you tempt me

The threat of Armageddon had passed. It was Friday night, and they were drunk, intent on getting drunker. The bookshop was hazy with the last of the sunset, empty bottles and takeout containers strewn about. Crowley lounged carelessly on the sofa as Aziraphale rummaged through a cabinet.

“I have one last bottle of the 1600,” Aziraphale said, bending over to reach the back corner.

Crowley stood, stretching and yawning, his tongue unfurling to taste the air.

“Aww, angel, you don’t know how you tempt me, serving me wine, ass on display like that.”

Aziraphale stopped. The air went out of the room. Even through the fog of inebriation, Crowley noticed immediately. Everything was very still; motes of dust floated among the shelves.

Crowley tried to take it back.

“Come on, I was joking.”

Aziraphale did not respond. He stood up and looked at Crowley over his shoulder, a strange look in his eyes.

“Demon, you know?” Crowley tried to laugh. “Old habits die hard.”

Aziraphale breathed out through his nostrils.

“ _How I tempt_ ** _you_** _?”_ the angel whispered incredulously.

Crowley’s brow furrowed.

“Angel…”

It happened so fast Crowley didn’t see it—Aziraphale was suddenly towering over him, pinning him to the wall. The angel burned with heavenly fire and something else Crowley couldn’t name. When Aziraphale spoke his voice was a beam of light, searing into Crowley.

“You, sauntering around in your trousers so tight I can see every outline of you, every mile of leg, your clothes just hanging off you like a… a… model. Your eyes. Your filthy mouth. Your tongue. God, your tongue.”

Had Crowley not been so shocked he might have flicked it out and licked his lips to taunt the normally buttoned-up angel. As it was, he was unable to think of a retort, unable to move. He hadn’t intended or anticipated this reaction.

He often teased Aziraphale, but it was just a game; would the angel wave it off or get that charming, slightly pink tinge in his virginal cheeks? But now…

Lust. Aziraphale was burning with lust. Crowley had never sensed that feeling coming off of the soft, nebbish angel before. Now it was unmistakable—an incredible, shining heat that sang into Crowley’s core.

And just like that, it dissipated, like a pot that had bubbled over and then calmed to a simmer again. Aziraphale’s voice faltered.

“You are a demon. You are temptation incarnate.” Aziraphale’s chest heaved. He seemed to shrink back to himself, once again soft and shy, ever so worried about doing the wrong thing. His eyes were wide. The angel and the demon stared at each other for a heavy moment.

It had honestly never occurred to Crowley that Aziraphale could really feel that tug. That’s what made the game fun; to tempt an angel would truly be a coup for Hell. Aziraphale was right, temptation was his job description.

On some level Crowley knew Aziraphale loved him, but of course Aziraphale loved everything; that was _his_ job description. The idea of an angel having base sexual feelings toward anything was remarkable, even _miraculous._ Crowley’s voice was gentle when he spoke.

“Six thousand years we’ve—”

“Six thousand years I’ve been… exercising self-control.” Aziraphale looked down. “Crowley. You must know… You torment me.”

Crowley kissed him. Quickly, then stepped back to see Aziraphale’s reaction. The angel seemed stunned; Crowley felt the same. He searched himself. This didn’t feel like other temptations; he wasn’t manipulating Aziraphale. He was feeling pulled toward him. Crowley tentatively laid a hand on Aziraphale’s chest; Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered closed then opened even wider.

It seemed unbearably lovely to Crowley, this angel standing in front of him, so bashful and so _good_ , just letting lust wash over him. Crowley wanted more of Aziraphale’s lips, and he couldn’t see why he shouldn’t have what he wanted, especially now that the worst was over, now that they had transgressed in this cosmic way and gotten away with it. Surely some illicit… fraternizing wouldn’t be what pushed them over the edge with their superiors. But the thought of Aziraphale falling stung him for a moment, visions of the angel’s snowy white feathers falling out in clumps, tears staining his cheeks, his body curled in a fetal position…

Then the same images surged back up in him as a delicious element of danger. Then more images—the angel in _compromising_ positions. Splayed across the sofa, bowtie undone, cheeks flushed. Trousers down, bent over the kitchen table. No, over the hood of the Bentley. Lewd. Wanton.

He kissed Aziraphale again, and was rewarded with a muffled moan and the pressure of Aziraphale leaning into the kiss.

“Crowley, I…”

“Shut up, Angel. Just kiss me.”


End file.
